Page 52 of The Laird’s Dangerous Prize (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #1)

CHAPTER TWO

F ive years later,

The carriage wheels kept up a steady rhythm as the vehicle rolled along the road, heading for the home Agnes had not seen for five long years. She was back on Scottish soil once again, unexpectedly.

She had returned because her Aunt Morag, with whom she had been living in France, had succumbed to the feverish sickness which had been sweeping across Europe for several months.

The poor woman was gravely ill, and though Agnes hated to leave her, it was decided that she and her four-year old daughter Roisin would be safer if they returned to Scotland until the danger had passed.

Naturally, the ever-faithful Saoirse was accompanying them home.

It had been a long and tiring journey and by the time they drew near to Castle Keppoch, it was late.

The sun had just sunk below the horizon, staining the sky in startling shades of pink, apricot, and lemon, which were gradually being overtaken by darkness.

The July night was warm, and the interior of the carriage felt stuffy to Agnes, although it might have been partly due to her restlessness.

She was wide awake, itching to reach the castle and get out of the carriage.

In contrast, Saoirse was dozing, her dark head bobbing against the back of the seat with every turn of the wheels and mercifully, an over-excited Roisin had finally fallen asleep on Agnes’ lap. Agnes was absently stroking her daughter’s silky hair as she slumbered, her little thumb in her mouth.

In the quietude, Agnes was thinking of Duncan.

She was looking forward to seeing him most of all.

He and her mother had last visited them in France six months ago, but it seemed like an eternity now.

When Roisin had been born, Agnes’ mother had been smitten with her granddaughter, and Agnes knew Roisin would never lack for love from that quarter.

Likewise, Duncan had taken to being an uncle like a duck to water.

Roisin adored him, and the pair had spent hours playing together.

Agnes delighted in witnessing this different side to her otherwise tough brother, a softer, protective side which told her he would make a wonderful father to his own children one day.

And yet, she was filled with trepidation, hence her restlessness.

Because there was someone else at the castle awaiting them, someone she could not be sure would welcome Roisin so warmly.

Her father. Once she had longed for his approval, but now, she no longer cared very much if he still insisted on treating her coldly.

She would happily return the favour. But she would not tolerate any behaviour from anyone that made Roisin feel in the least bit unwanted or unloved.

And of all her close family, her father was the one she feared was most likely to do exactly that.

As far as she was concerned, her trepidation was based on sound supposition. He had treated her coldly before she left for France, and he had not once troubled himself to write to her or make the journey to France to see her and his granddaughter in the entire five years she had been away.

He had always been a stern, unemotional father, not given to displays of affection towards his children. He had never been cruel, but he inspired more respect than love.

Agnes had come to realize over her years in France that he had perceived her pregnancy as an attack. It had made him feel he had failed to manage his daughter, and the disgrace she had brought upon him by doing so had been too much to forgive. She suspected that was still very much the case.

Such were the thoughts that were occupying her mind as the carriage rolled ever closer to the castle.

She was suddenly shocked out of them by the sound of shouts coming from outside the vehicle, which suddenly drew to a shuddering halt.

So abrupt was the stop, that Saoirse instantly awoke.

Fortunately, cushioned on Agnes’ lap, Roisin slept on.

“Are we there, me lady,” Saoirse asked in a voice blurred by sleep, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“Nay, we’ve stopped on the road. Listen, there’s some sort of ruckus goin’ on outside,” Agnes told her hurriedly, her anxiety rising.

They listened as the shouts of several men grew louder, more insistent, coming from immediately outside the vehicle.

Needing to know what was going on and if it posed a threat to Roisin, Agnes sat up carefully to avoid disturbing the child, leaned over to the window, and raised the blind a little.

Peering out, trying to see what the cause of the commotion could be, she heard running feet but glimpsed only fast-moving shadows in the gathering darkness.

“Ach, ’tis too dark tae see anythin’ properly,” she told Saoirse in frustration, leaning back from the window. Yet still the shouts persisted, hard, sharp, unintelligible bursts of sound that gave Agnes the unsettling feeling of being encircled by a pack of dogs

The two women locked eyes, and Agnes could clearly see her own fear reflected back at her in Saoirse’s.

“I dinnae like this one bit, me lady,” the maid murmured, glancing worriedly at Roisin.

Agnes called up the driver. “Coachman, what is happening? Why have we stopped? Have we broken down?”

It was slightly reassuring to hear the driver’s voice come back strongly, “Nay, me lady, but—” His reply was suddenly cut off by a blood-curdling scream, followed by a loud thud.

Agnes and Saoirse froze, staring at each other in undisguised alarm. “Me lady, I think we’re bein’ attacked by brigands,” her maid hissed.

“Oh, Lord preserve us, Saoirse, I think ye’re right,” Agnes answered in a panicked whisper, starting to shake. Roisin, startled awake by the scream and confused and frightened by the shouting from outside, started to cry.

She clung to Agnes wide-eyed, her little face white with fear. “Mama, what was the man screamin’ fer? Is he hurt?” she stammered, hardly able to speak.

Despite her rising panic, Agnes stroked Roisin’s head and tried to reassure her.

“Nay, darlin’, he’s all right. But there’s some bad men outside, and ye need tae hide,” she said, hearing the tremor in her own voice.

She opened her cloak. “Come here, under me cloak. Now, ye must be a brave lass and dinnae make a peep or move until I tell ye ’tis safe, all right? ”

Roisin nodded, tears streaming down her face as she scooted beneath the cloak and huddled against her mother, hidden from sight once Agnes folded it over her, thanking the heavens above that Roisin was a smaller child than other’s her age.

“What shall we dae? We have naethin’ tae defend oursel’s with,” Agnes whispered to Saoirse.

“What are ye daein’?” she asked, seeing Saoirse frantically rummaging in her old tapestry bag, the same one she had brought with them when they had left five years before.

It was stuffed with hers and Roisin’s things as well as a host of other useful items.

“Aye, we dae, we have these,” Saoirse whispered back, handing Agnes a dirk. She had another for herself, it appeared. She unsheathed the blade, while Agnes only stared at hers.

“But I’ve never used…” She hesitated to say knife in case it frightened Roisin further. So instead, she said, “... one of these before. I dinnae what tae dae with it.”

“Well, I’m nay expert either, but there cannae be much tae it,” Saoirse said, brandishing the blade in front of her.

“I’ll take that door, and ye take the other, and if anyone tries tae get in, do this.

” She demonstrated with a series of quick, darting thrusts at an imaginary enemy before shifting over to station herself at the door where Agnes had tried to look outside.

“Ye need tae take it out of its sheath first,” she added emphatically, noticing Agnes had not moved and was simply staring at the dirk in her hand.

“Aye, right,” Agnes said numbly, pulling the knife out with shaking fingers and gripping the hilt.

The blade was about ten inches long and looked frighteningly sharp.

But any qualms she might have had about using it on another person or dying in the attempt were overtaken by her motherly instinct to protect Roisin at all costs.

“Aim fer the chest,” Saoirse instructed, holding her tall body stiffly between them and the door, the knife in her outstretched hand pointed at it.

Agnes shifted slightly, making sure Roisin was positioned between them beneath her cloak, so she would be protected if they were boarded. The little mite clutched her mother’s waist, her small body trembling, but she made not a peep.

“It’ll be all right, darlin’,” Agnes whispered, her arm around Roisin outside the cloak, trying to reassure the little girl as best she could.

Then, the very thing she and Saoirse had been dreading actually occurred, for the carriage door on her side was suddenly wrenched open.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she pointed the knife at the man who appeared in the doorway.

He was scruffily dressed, and he was wielding a dirk.

When he saw the two women, his dark eyes gleamed, and his unshaven face split into a wolfish grin.

“Well, well, well, looks like ’tis our lucky day.

Good evenin’ tae ye, ladies,” he said in a rough voice, leering at them.

Agnes felt a wave of fear and revulsion wash over her as his eyes swept over her body.

She knew very well what happened to women caught by brigands on the road before they were murdered.

“What a fine lookin’ pair ye are. Ye willnae mind if I come and join ye, will ye?

” the brigand said, putting his foot on the step and heaving himself up, clearly about to get in.

Agnes was shaking so much, she could hardly grip the dirk.

She heard Saoirse moving behind her but could not see what she was doing.

“Och, two feisty ones, eh? That’s what I like. A bit of spirit,” the brigand said, obviously enjoying their terror.